The Tea (of) Pot
by onceuponaquill
Summary: Arthur Weasley has a new Muggle experiment with some highly unprecedented results. Warning: Substance abuse!


Arthur Weasley was acting strangely unusual; that is to say, unusually strange. He was feeling oddly pleasant.

Well.

The pleasant feeling wasn't odd, it was how he'd gotten that way. Arthur couldn't think of a single reason for him to feel so unexplainably _good_. Come to think of it, he couldn't remember anything much of the last few hours. He only had a few hazy memories of a nice man on a London street corner offering him some nice Muggle thing that, really, was awfully nice.

Mr. Weasley signed contentedly, reeling his thoughts back in. All was right in the world, he thought, and on that happy note, he took another long sip of tea.

oOo

In all of Ronald's fourteen years of being, he'd never seen his dad stumble around the house like this, completely unaware of his surroundings. Arthur Weasley was crashing around the Burrow, sending many an object on a one-way trip to the floor.

_CRASH._

Ron winced as a plate went topsy-turvy tumbling to the ground, bursting into shards as it hit the floor.

"_Mollywobbles!_" warbled Mr. Weasley. "I feel very queer..." He trailed off and looked around, as if just now noticing the mess around him. He staggered to a nearby chair and sat down clumsily. He blinked once- twice- and then he got back up, eyes unfocused. Ron groaned. "_MOLLYWOBBLES_," called Mr. Weasley, "Would you like to hear me sing?"

And then the fifty-year old father of seven proceeded to blare out a terrible rendition of Celestina Warbeck's "A Cauldron Full of Hot Strong Love", replacing all of the endearments with Mollywobbles (his rhythm was thus terribly off.)

oOo

Molly Weasley was equal parts furious and embarrassed, both emotions making the tomatoey shade of her face even more prominent. She stormed down the stairs, taking them two at a time. At a measly height of 5'1", this likely wasn't the safest way to descend floors; she was essentially hopping over each pair of steps, precariously perched on the tiny ledge before hopping to the next one. But "Mollywobbles" was a woman with a purpose, and she flew down those stairs the way the chickens outside the burrow were fleeing Mr. Weasley's song rendering.

"ARTHUR WEASLEY!" she all but nucleary-exploded. "JUST _WHAT_ DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING?" she thundered. If Molly was the thunder, Arthur was the rain, quiet and meek.

"I was serenading my Mollywobbles!" He smiled, clearly expecting her to be pleased, ecstatic, even.

Molly Weasley was a far cry from ecstatic.

Muttering obscenities under her breath, she stomped across the tiny kitchen and, grasping Mr. Weasley firmly by the arm, dragged him over to the dining table, on which sat a cup of tea dregs. Molly shoved Arthur into a chair and brandished her wand inches from his nose.

"Why," she said, breathing heavily, "the _bloody hell _did you think I wanted to be _serenaded?" _Her voice had reached a magnitude of 10.0 on the Richter scale again. Ron thought it best his dad didn't answer, but Mr. Weasley plowed on.

"Well, you know, it just seemed like a good idea at the time," he said amiably, completely oblivious to the pain about to be inflicted on him by his wife. "Ever since that _marvelous _tea, I've just been getting so many good ideas!" he chuckled.

"Tea?" asked Molly irritably. _"What... Bloody... Tea..."_ she muttered, punctuating each pause with whispered curses (both the magical and foul type.) She peered around the little room, until her laser-shooting-glare-of-death landed on the unassuming cup of tea resting on the dinner table. Thrusting her wand upon Mr. Weasley, she seized the cup with both hands and gave a vigorous sniff. It smelled pungent and earthy. Brows furrowed, Mrs. Weasley gestured impatiently for her wand. Thankfully, Arthur handed it over in 0.02475 seconds- any later and Molly might've spontaneously combusted.

Molly Weasley probed around the bottom of the cup with her wand, before pulling out the bottom leaves, which hung limply on the tip of the stick. They were a greenish brownish greyish mixture of leaves and sticks. Ron was thoroughly confused, but Molly was decidedly not.

Turning on her heel, she locked smoldering eyes with her husband.

"Arthur Weasley." The man smiled amicably. _"Arthur Weasley."_ Molly repeated. And that's when all of Ron's instincts, honed from living with his mother for fourteen years, _screamed _for him to run away from the impending explosion.

He took a few cautionary steps backwards- and then.

And then.

What a spectacular explosion it was.

"_Arthur Weasley_, you brewed _MARIJUANA TEA_?!"

The smoke blocked out the sky for days.

oOo

_A few hours earlier:_

Arthur Weasley strode purposefully along the London street, mind flitting from Muggle contraptions to the unthinkable tightness of his Muggle pinstripe pants (what a useless invention.) He was on a special Ministry of Magic mission, seeking out witches and wizards illegally selling magical products to unsuspecting Muggles. Most magicians would've found this job repugnant, dull. But not Arthur. Mr. Weasley had an uncanny penchant for dabbling in Muggle affairs. He knew his wife, like much of the wizarding world, looked down upon such practices. But Arthur was not to be swayed. He loved all interesting things, whether magical or not.

His thoughts were interrupted by a roadside seller, concealed in the deep shadows of a nearby building, very obviously trying to blend into the scenery. Thinking that the seller may be a disguised magician, Arthur strode over, trying his best to look dignified and distinguished- every bit the Muggle businessman.

The hooded man leered, flaunting a mouth full of gaping holes where there should've been teeth.

"A businessman addict, eh?" The man cackled and brought out several baggies full of dull colored leaves. "Well, there you go, then. Pot.

Arthur Weasley didn't do much of the cooking in the house. Being a fantastic chef, Molly Weasley did most of that. But whether educated in the art of cuisine or not, Mr. Weasley was 99% sure that he was looking at four filled plastic baggies- not a kitchen utensil.

"Sorry?" he asked, squinting so as to better see the man's face, but to no avail. His features were completely shrouded in the gloom that accompanied a lack of sunlight. Something about the man gave off a very Muggle-ish aura. Arthur was quite certain the seller wasn't a renegade magician. However, he was seriously considering a diagnosis of a mental affliction. "Pot, you say?" Mr. Weasley asked. The man cackled again.

"Us humans are funny creatures, we are. Using leaves for a high... But no matter. Take it or leave it, I don't want to attract attention." The man looked around shiftily. Arthur was now certain the man wasn't a wizard, but his curiosity was piqued for different reasons.

Arthur took a closer look at the "pot". Curious, he thought. Very curious. And then his interest got the better of him. He held his hand out for one of the baggies. Mr. Weasley examined it closely. What a curious Muggle affair! He'd never heard of this leaf-pot in the wizarding world- it must've been some sort of ingenious Muggle plant created to account for the absence of magic. Arthur smiled, his mind made up.

"Money!" snarled the vendor. Distracted, Arthur pulled out a large stack of "pounds" (really, Muggles had such curious names for things) and fumbled with it. Finally, he just handed the whole thing over to the vendor, at a complete loss. The man looked startled for a second, but when Arthur made no move to take back the money, he grinned widely, giving a funny little salute before he took off.

Mr. Weasley tucked the baggie into his jacket pocket and set off at a brisk stroll, rolling his shoulders back when he finally walked into the warm sunlight. He planned to use the leaves in the most British way he could think of- he was to brew the leaves into a tea.

Little did Arthur Weasley know that this tea would have a lot more than just caffeine in it.


End file.
